


A Dean Winchester Christmas

by get_out_of_my_cas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), a little angsty shhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/get_out_of_my_cas/pseuds/get_out_of_my_cas
Summary: So maybe Dean goes a little overboard on Christmas but hey, it's Cas' first real Christmas on Earth. What was he supposed to do? Not go all out?It's Christmas in the bunker, in which Dean's an idiot but then he's not. Mistletoe and eggnog abound...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 29





	A Dean Winchester Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave comments/ideas/whatever <3

“Can you believe it’s already December?” Sam asked, looking up from his laptop. 

“Dude, I swear it was just Halloween,” Dean said, mouth paused before his beer. He swigged down the rest, standing up to grab another. You want? He gestured. No from Sam. As he turned the kitchen corner, he narrowly avoided slamming Cas for like, the third time that day. Cas had a very sneaky habit of tiptoeing around the bunker. Or, at least that’s how Dean tells him off. “Sorry not all of us are so heavy footed, Dean”. 

“Cas stop sneaking around, Jesus,” Dean said, brushing past. “And come sit down.” 

“I’m not sneaking around,” Cas said, taking a seat beside him, “but if I was, I don’t imagine you would realize.” 

“That’s generally how sneaking around works Ca—”

“Anyways….” Sam cuts in, “I was just telling Dean how quickly this year went by. We’re going to turn around and it’ll be Christmas already.” 

“Yes, this year has gone by “fast”” Cas remarks, opening his book. Dean can hear the air quotes.

“Wait Cas...have you had a Christmas before?” Dean asked, leaning forward over the table. Their shoulders brushed as Dean propped his arm up to rest his head on his fist.

“Have I celebrated Jesus’ birthday before? Yes, we had a yearly gathering in heaven.” Cas says, his eyes staying nestled in his book. 

“You mean you had Christmas in Heaven?” Dean says, eyebrows furrowing. 

Cas makes a show of flopping over his book. “Well, we gathered and read scripture, yes. I always enjoyed our tradition.” The book flip backs up.

“Jesus Cas, that’s not Christmas, that's Bible Camp,” Dean snorted. “You guys didn’t do anything fun? Give gifts? Get hammered?” 

Cas shuts the book. “Yes, Dean, after Bible Study we all got wasted and then fed each other milk and cookies” Cas drawled. Dean’s eyes rolled back, head tipping backwards to follow them. 

“God Cas, what are you the Grinch? Lighten up,” Dean said, poking him in the shoulder, grinning. 

“You know I don’t understand what that means,” Cas said, shooting Dean a look. Dean just rubbed his shoulder, grinning harder. 

“Alright Cas, time to pop your Christmas cherry, then,” Dean said, rebuking a look from Sam. “We’re going to do it right this year, you’ll see,” Dean said, hand lingering down Cas’ shoulder blade to the back of his chair. 

“Alright, well you two are in charge,” Sam said, standing up to hit the hay. “Which means, Cas, you’re really in charge.”

“Oh come on, Sammy, what? You don’t believe in me?” Dean said, throwing up his hands. 

“Nope. Goodnight!” Sam called over his shoulder. 

“Sleep tight, girl scout!.” Dean called out, sinking back into this seat. He drummed his fingers on the table—much to Cas’ annoyance—but stopped, checking his watch. “Alright, we’ve got to go now before they close.” 

“Before who closes? Dean it’s…” He pulled over Dean’s wrist. “8 o’clock.” Dean pulled his wrist away before Cas’ touch quickened his pulse, giving him away. 

“The Christmas Tree lot, duh,” Dean said, fake pulling Cas up by his shoulders. “We have to go now and get a good one before it’s only Charlie Browns left.” 

“Does he own the lot?” Cas asked, finally giving in to Dean’s pulling hands. 

“Does who own the lot?” Dean asked. 

“Charlie Brown,” Cas said, head cocking. 

“God Cas, you are killing me!” Dean said, scrunching his fingers across his temple. “Just….get dressed for the cold and meet me back here in five.”

“Fine, see you in 10” Cas said, making a show of very slowly backing off. Dean groaned. 

\----------

Dean can’t even remember the last time they had a tree. They never really had them as kids—Christmas was not exactly a Winchester affair. Dad was gone most of them anyways. Dean had always tried to do something for Sam but with no money and being a kid, it was mostly just watching motel TV and seeing snow, if they were lucky. It’s why Sam’s never big on Christmas every year; always brings back shadows of sorry memories. Dean always went with the flow, didn’t want to push Sam, but he always secretly wished Sam would budge and maybe one year they’d get a tree. Do more than just get wasted on eggnog, eat take-out, exchange gifs wrapped in newspaper, and pass out early. Gifts from Sam were always small and practical; Dean’s were wildly immature. 

Now that Cas was human (for now, Dean told himself. He was working on it.) Dean finally had an excuse to go all out. On one hand he felt childish at the idea of decorating the bunker in kitschy Christmas bows and ribbons, stringing up lights, posting a tree up in the corner. On the other hand, seeing Cas among the Christmas trees, fingers stretching out to graze their pines, stopping to smell each one, made a warmth was spread through his chest. They’d been through so much this year; together and separately. Dean had to make it up to Cas. He had to give him a proper holiday.

Last Christmas was drifting in from afar in the winter wind. “See one you like?” Dean said, coming up behind Cas. He’d bought them ridiculously priced hot chocolate from the stand at the front of the lot. He bought a pack of ornaments too, some garland, even lights. Cas' face lit up in surprise as he accepted the styrofoam cup, balancing a mound of whipped cream. The surprise melted into a smile as Cas pulled it up to his lips. God, those lips. Those chapped lips, ruddy in the cold, lips Cas licked right before taking a sip. Dean felt a little self-conscious standing there, staring in anticipation. 

Then Cas nearly moaned at his first sip and Dean suddenly choked on his. Cas’ eyebrows danced upwards and although Dean couldn’t see himself, he was pretty sure his cheeks were steaming in the cold, a red-hot blush streaking across. Cas murmured a thank you, Dean before his next sip, if only to break the silence. Dean shrugged, but now Cas had a lick of whipped cream on his nose. Dean’s hands fidgeted at his side — “you ugh, Cas you gotta little”—before coming up to wipe it off with his index. Cas’ nose crinkled and now Dean turned around, desperate to cool his face off. He pretended to look at the tree beside them. Rubbed a branch between his fingers. Note to self: More hot chocolate for Cas. 

“I thought this one would work?” Cas said, standing in close to Dean. Dean nodded, walking around the tree in fake inspection. 

“Looks good to me,” he said, hailing down a worker. 

They took the drive back slow, careful not to send the tree flying off the Impala’s roof. Dean complained the entire time that Cas was going to be responsible for cleaning the sap of the car’s roof but Cas could see through the front. Between complaints Dean was beaming; he had been since they’d gotten to the lot. 

“So what now?” Cas asked, rubbing his hand in front of the Impala’s heaters. 

“Now we go back, get wasted, and put it up,” Dean said, grinning across to Cas. Now it was Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. 

“Dean it’s late,” Cas said, checking the time. 

“Fine, you’re right….Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow morning!” Dean said, cranking up the heat. 

“Tomorrow morning.”

\--------

Cas drifted into the kitchen. Dean knew the smell of bacon would draw him out. It always did. 

“This looks great, thank you Dean,” Cas said, filling a cup of coffee. Someone’s in a nice mood, Dean thought. Cas was usually overflowing with grump in the morning, typically biting off toast and the occasional head, if he could. 

“Seems like someone’s in a good mood,” Dean said.

Cas hmm’d, sipping a little of his coffee. 

“Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?” Cas said, knocking Dean’s shoulder. 

“Absolutely not. No fun today. We’re going to put up the tree and I’m going to hate it and you’re going to hate it and we will never celebrate Christmas again,” Dean said, pushing the eggs around in the pan. 

“Good, who needs it anyways,” Cas said, putting down his mug. 

“Hey, quit it, you sound like Sam,” Dean said, plating the eggs and bacon. He handed Cas a plate. Cas thanked him and they got to eating, silently digging in. 

Putting up the tree took longer than Dean had anticipated. First, they couldn’t decide where to put it.  
“Cas, we can’t put it by the fire there’s no outlet.”  
“So make one.”  
“I— You’re being dumb.”

Then only half the lights would turn on, because, of course. Dean ended up breaking four ornaments himself, which meant they were then only left with six. The garland only made it a foot up the bottom too because Dean had only bought one pack. In the end, it looked….kinda fucked. 

“That looks kinda fucked,” Sam said, passing by. 

“Hey!” They both called back, laughing in turn. Sam was right though, it really was a mess. It was even leaning on top of it, tilting a couple inches to the side. 

“Do you think it needs more?” Cas asked, cocking his head. “Or….less?”

“Nah, it just, it just has character, that’s all,” Dean said, rubbing his hand across his jaw. He leaned forward to adjust an ornament that hung on a weak branch, pulling the small twig down with its weight. As soon as he touched the branch the ornament slipped off, shattering on the ground. 

“I’ll get the broom. Again” Cas mocked, shaking his head. 

\-------------

“Dean, they’re all great choices,” Sam said with a sigh. They’d been inside the store for over twenty minutes, some little boutique downtown that Dean had always walked right past on the way to the grocery store. He was supposed to be grocery shopping with Sam, but he just wanted to see if they had anything after catching a glimpse of a mannequin with a deep blue sweater. He was trying to pick something out for Cas but Sam was ruining it. Not only because he was there, which made Dean feel self-conscious that he was in a boutique anyways —let alone buying something for Cas—but also because he had no opinions. Not that Dean wanted them anyways. 

“I thought you were supposed to be the fashiony one,” Dean scoffed, pulling out a maroon sweater with a stripe of beige running across the shoulders. It was nice but scratchy and $70? Jesus. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam scoffed, crossing his arms. 

“I don’t know, just with the long hair and everything and the—” he gestured at Sam’s outfit. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Sam said in defense. He knew Dean was just fronting, knew he was embarrassed to be taking so long for a sweater. Sam wasn’t stupid: when Cas said it was his first Christmas he knew Dean would take it and run. He didn’t think it would be this bad. 

“Nothing, Sammy,” Dean said, pulling out another sweater. He set it down, looking around the store. “Let’s just go,” Dean said, pushing past him. 

“But you didn’t even buy one!” 

“They were too pricey and they were ugly too, come on, we’ve still got to grocery shop so stop dilly-dallying,” Dean said, pushing open the door. Sam just rolled his eyes; he didn’t have the energy left to fight. 

\-------

“Was the store crowded?” Cas asked over his lunch. 

“No, why?” Dean said, putting away the groceries. 

“Oh, you guys just took longer than unusual,” Cas said over a bite. Sam just laughed. Dean became suddenly very interested in the milk carton’s ingredients. Ingredients: Milk. 

“Umm, yea, they were out of Sam’s hair gel,” Dean quipped and Sam just furrowed his brow. He didn’t even bother remarking how little that made sense.  
“Anyways clear your schedule for tonight, we’re making eggnog and cookies.” 

“Oh, we’re baking?” Cas said. 

“Yea, since when did you bake, Dean?” Sam said, mocking sincerity. It was a fair quip; Dean had been jabbing at him all day. 

“You, shut up. And yes, we’re baking. Some of us don’t actually hate Christmas unlike some people....Did Santa touch you Sam, is that it? Is that why you hate Christmas?” Dean asked, crossing his arms. 

Sam just huffed and walked off. “Whatever. Don’t have too much fun, you two,” he said, tapping a fist on Cas’ shoulder. Dean just rolled his eyes and put the rest of the stuff away. If Sam wanted to be a dick and sulk, he was more than welcome too, Dean thought. 

“So, what’s engong?” Cas asked, washing off his plate. 

“It’s eggnog, Cas, and it’s delicious,” Dean said, biting into a banana. “You’ll like it.” 

“What made you want to make it?” 

That sound you made when you had your first sip of hot chocolate. “Nothing, just thought it’d be fun,” Dean deflected.

“Okay, well, come get me when you’re ready,” Cas said, drifting out of the room. “I’ll be in the greenhouse.”

\--------------

Dean had been tasting the bourbon before Cas wandered into the kitchen. Well, tasting in a glass. Drinking it. It being 3 Old Fashioneds. 

“Hiyaa Cas,” Dean said, trying to shelter the glass from Cas’ view by moving in front of it. His movement was a little too quick and somehow also too slow. 

Cas stopped. “Have...have you been drinking?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“No, not at all,” Dean said. Ouch. That didn’t come out that crisp. Cas pulled up to Dean, standing almost flesh with his body. Dean could feel the heat radiating off of him. He leaned back but Cas’ lips we’re right there, still so chapped, still ruddy as he licked them, again. 

“Really?” Cas asked. Dean thought he was going to smell the liquor on his lips, he was that close. His face was red from the alcohol flush, but he definitely was not blushing. No, not blushing. But just as quickly as Cas was there he was leaning back, pulling out the glass Dean had been trying to hide out from behind him back. 

“So this, this, this isn’t yours?” Cas asked, eyebrows raised. He swirled the glass slowly. 

“Nope,” Dean said, shaking his head, lips pulled into a taut line. 

“So you won’t be mad….if I have it then...since it’s not yours,” Cas said, bringing the glass up to his lips. 

“Be my guest,” Dean said, throwing up his hands.

Cas slowly tilted the glass back, letting the bourbon flow down his throat as he swallowed the drink whole. A little caught on the corner of his lip. He wiped it with the back of his arm, reaching forward again to set down the glass on the table. Dean’s eyes were open as wide as his mouth, which he quickly tried to close. Everything was happening too quickly and yet he swore time froze as Cas’ head tipped back, his neck arching, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. 

“So...” Cas said, grinning. “What’s in eggnog anyways?”

“uhh….more of the same,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Uh oh.”

\--------

By the time they made the eggnog and drank it all (the cookies didn’t make it farther than preheating the oven) they were properly trashed. Thankfully, Sam was out at some book signing or something nerdy. They spilled onto the couch, limbs tumbling into cushions and onto each other. Cas’ foot was brushing against Dean’s shin, just light enough to tickle. Neither moved away. Dean had lit a fire under the TV but neither of them got up to turn it on. They sat in silence for a moment, Dean scratched his arm. It was his nervous habit; Cas knew it well. 

“Well…” Cas said, the open e vowel dripping in booze. “What else is on the list?” 

Dean lifted his head from where it’d been resting on the couch. “I don’t know, uhh, we have to make a snowman, and uhhhh, go caroling and then...uhh” Dean rubbed his eyes. Those five—six?—old fashioneds had really snuck up on him. 

“I thought there'd be more,” Cas said, lifting his hands towards the fire. He settled deeper into the couch. His knee brushed against Dean’s more fully, settled against his. Dean wrapped his arms around a pillow to still them. His hands were begging to reach forward, run themselves under and up Cas’ shirt, dig through his hair. The fire popped, snapping him back. 

“Uh, we could make snow-angels or uh...” Dean said, immediately regretting it. The Cas-being-human thing was still a fresh wound and Dean hated prodding it. But Cas didn’t even wince, like he might have in the beginning. 

“I’m sorry, Cas, I wasn’t thinking...” Dean trailed off. 

“Dean, it’s okay.” Cas said, placing a hand on Dean’s knee. “You don’t have to be sorry. Besides, Christmas on Earth is...good. It’s great actually. I like it. Thank you for introducing me,” Cas said, wrapping the blanket closer around him. Warmth spread through Dean. The fireplace and the bourbon were no match to the sheer heat radiating of Cas’ body. Here on the couch, orange flickers of soft light caressed Cas’ face, illuminating his eyes as they held Dean’s gaze. God, in the light Cas was so beautiful. He always stunned Dean. No matter what time of day. Even in the mornings, with his bed head and baggy pajama bottoms. It wasn’t even the skin peeking under his sleeping shirt that always stirred Dean. Just the sight of Cas comfortable, sleepy, home, threw Dean everytime. Of course Cas was beautiful during the day, working in the greenhouse, reading his books, his hands attentive to book and flower with the same gentle caress. Right now, with the sparks of a fire dancing in his eyes— those eyes that were holding Dean’s, holding true, not breaking— Dean’s breath was catching in his throat. 

“Well, I’m glad you like it Cas,” Dean said, sitting up a little. “It’s a...it’s a fun holiday time.” A fun holiday time? Pull it together, Dean he thinks. Somewhere between Dean’s brain and his mouth his words were corrupted by Cas’ gaze, garbled, ruffled through and spit out. And that was Dean sober. 

“Well we don’t have snow, yet,” Cas said, rubbing his hands out towards the fire. “Anything we’re missing?” He added, turning to Dean. 

Dean’s heart was already beating hard, but when Cas settled back and laid his hand to rest against Dean’s knee, just so slightly, Dean felt it skitter out of rhythm. In the light and the silence, Cas’ face flushed. Dean told himself it was the booze, that Cas was just a lightweight, and that he was being a fool by sitting forward, propping an arm behind him. Cas’ sleepy eyes widened just slightly as Dean inched forward. 

“There’s one more thing, but I was saving it for later,” Dean said. His words rang out before he thought them, the booze speaking for him. Dean, slow down. 

“Oh?” Cas said, turning fully towards Dean. “What’s that?” His eyes flickered to Dean’s lips. 

“Uhh...sometimes you hang mistletoe,” Dean said, licking his lips. He watched Cas watch him, watched his eyes flicker down again. Dean, stop. But Dean was in the backseat now. Drunk Dean steering the boat, flying the plane. He hoped it wouldn’t crash land. 

“What do you do with mistytoll?” Cas replied, his hand now rested on Dean’s thigh, inching across a line.

“This.” 

Dean pressed his lips onto Cas’. They were rugged, just as Dean had imagined, but soft, slow, even sweet. Then Dean caught up with his drunk body in real time, realizing that fuck, these were Cas’ lips. But Cas’ arm only slowly wrapped around Dean’s neck, pulling him in further. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat as they deepened their kiss, hitching again when Cas rubbed a thumb down Dean’s jaw. Dean realized his hands were still planted by his side and when he wrapped them around Cas and Cas moaned so slightly into Dean’s mouth, Dean thought he’d nearly crush him pulling him closer. Cas crawled forward into Dean’s lap, straddling him now as he leaned Dean back into lying down. Dean bit a little on Cas’ bottom lip and Cas pushed down into him, running a hand down his chest. Dean pulled off to mouth kisses down Cas’ neck, starting at his ear and working down to the hollow of this throat. 

“Dean,” Cas whispered, rooting his hand into Dean’s hair. 

“Shhh,” Dean said, his left hand rubbing up and down Cas back. The skin was taut under his shirt, hard muscle meeting smooth skin as Dean slipped his hand under the hem. He ran his nails down Cas’ back and Cas arched, exposing more of his neck to Dean. 

“Cas,” Dean muffled into Cas’ shirt, his nose nuzzling into Cas’ neck. 

“Shhhh,” Cas said, lifting Dean’s chin to kiss him again. They went slow, Cas’ tongue running along Dean’s bottom lip and yes, please, now, Dean opened deeper for Cas. Cas’ hips slowly pushed down into Dean, and Dean bucked into the pressure. Now was not the time to be coy, Dean thought, and grabbed a handful of Cas’ ass. Cas’ was trailing down Dean’s neck now and Dean slowly started lifting Cas’ shift off his back, Cas’ shuddering against the cold air—

“Hey, I’m back!” Sam called from the top of the stairwell. FUCK. Limbs slammed into limbs as they scrambled apart, Dean’s hand knocking Cas’ across the back of the head. They just made it to opposite ends of the couch as Sam turned the corner, signed book in hand. 

They were both panting. Dean couldn’t see himself but he could see Cas, whose ruffled hair was absolutely not helping the deep flush blooming across his cheeks. Dean could only imagine what he looked like. He looked down at the pillow he held clutched in front of his crotch.

“Uhhh….” Sam said, standing there. “How was….uhh….did you,” he sputtered. He just stood there. 

“We uhh…” Cas started. 

“We decided to watch a movie instead,” Dean snapped out, way too quickly. Sam glanced at the TV. It was off. 

“Right,” Sam said, backing out. Abort, abort abort currently blasted through his head. He held up his hands. “Sorry, I’ll ugh, let you too get back to it then,” he said. He fled the room but the awkwardness remained, hanging in the air, thick. 

Cas swallowed. “Do you think he—” but Dean was already getting up, moving away from the couch towards his room. 

“Dean,” Cas called out but he kept his head down, didn’t look back as he rounded the corner. “uh...goodnight Cas,” Dean choked out. 

Cas pulled the blanket around him, ran his hands across his face. He looked up, stared into the fire, watched it slowly lick up the fireplace walls. The bunker was silent, apart from the crack of the fire as a log split. He watched it, watched it until the log’s fell apart. Watched it until the embers glowed low and then not at all, the room slowing plunging into darkness.

\------------

Sam ate breakfast alone. Dean didn’t come out of his room until midday, just to grab toast, and then disappeared until dinner. Cas was in the greenhouse until the sun set, but when Sam passed he was only sitting, staring at a dying orchid. He raised his hands to lift the wilting bloom, letting it fall again. Sam knocked and waved and Cas’ faked a smile and Sam held up a thumbs up in question. Cas shrugged, pointing at the orchid. Sam nodded and continued down the hall. 

He ate dinner alone. Cas joined him, briefly, pushing his food around his plate but Sam didn’t think he ever actually took a bite. Sam didn’t want to press him about it, but if he was suspicious before, he knew something had happened now. 

He cornered Dean in the laundry room. 

“Dean,” Sam said, standing before the door. Dean had his back to him but he tensed, hand gripping a shirt. 

“What,” Dean replied, slowly filling the machine. It was less of a question than a statement. 

“Stop this.” 

“Stop talking Sammy,” Dean said, never turning to look. 

“No,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Stop moping around like some teenager—” 

“Shut up Sammy,” Dean said, hands gripping the edge of the washing machine. 

“No, you shut up! Just listen to me for one second, god” Sam said, in that tone Dean hated. “I don’t care about you and Cas. Well, I do care in that I’m happy for you but Dean, you cannot avoid this. You have to talk to him,” Sam said. He could feel the temperature of the room drop, could see Dean’s knuckles go white on the machine’s rim. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean growled. 

“Dean. Stop. Just...look, Dean, just go talk to him. I know you don’t want to but for once in your life, do not run away from this. Do not run away from him.” 

Dean’s shoulders tensed again but they finally relaxed. His hands came forward to slide towards the top of the machine as he braced himself, letting his head hang down. 

“I know,” Dean said. “I….I will.” 

“Good. And don’t use my detergent.” 

\--------

Dean wanted to talk to him. He did. He had a million things to say and a million things to regret. How do you say:

You’re my best friend and I’m sorry I crossed that line.  
I have wanted to kiss you every day since I met you.  
Please be patient with me. I know I’m fucked up and I will probably screw this up and hurt you and I don’t want to do that. Please don’t let me do that.  
I need to kiss you again.  
I love you. I’m scared.  
I have never needed someone more in my entire life and every moment without you feels like I’m suffocating.  
I would die for you.  
I am dying without you. 

“Hey,” is all he starts with. Cas looks up from the plant he’s potting, surprised widening in his eyes. Dean hates himself immediately, hates every second he spent ignoring Cas, hates that he kissed him, hates that he hates that he kissed him. Hates that he never kissed him years ago. 

“Hi,” Cas says, placing down the pot. Cas is seated on the floor, surrounded by scattered dirt and bits of leaves. He takes off his gloves. He has a smear of dirt across his cheek. Dean resists the urge to wipe it away. 

“I…” Dean says, feeling awkward now that he’s standing above Cas. He sits down beside him, close but not close enough for Cas to reach. Cas wants to but Dean is so cagey, so flighty that he thinks if he even breathes the wrong way Dean will bolt. So he doesn’t say anything. 

“I....fuck, I” Dean says, staring at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap. His face was flushing again and he cursed under his breath. 

“Dean, it’s okay, you don’t have to—” 

“No, it’s not okay, Cas. It’s not okay.” Dean says, so quietly Cas has to strain to hear him. 

“Dean,” 

“Just please..don’t say anything,” Dean says, wringing his hands. “Cas, I…I’m sorry,” Dean said. 

Cas doesn’t say anything. He looks on, waiting for Dean to continue. 

For kissing you, For not being who you need me to be. For not being strong, open, willing. Dean thinks. But that is now what he says. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you. For acting like a total dick.” he says, smoothing down his jeans. He still can’t meet Cas’ eyes. “For, you know...” Dean trails off. 

“Oh,” Cas says, looking down. “I see.” 

“I’m sorry, I was just drunk and I, I, I crossed a line. I won’t do it again,” Cas reached out to touch Dean’s hand but Dean was already standing, already backing out. He’d said about all he could. Every word was like a fresh brand into his side. He was trying, he was, but there was only so much a guy could take. 

“Dean,” Cas says, standing. His tone stops Dean, pausing him with his hand on the door handle, having turned it just slightly. Dean braced for impact, braced for the yelling, braced for the storm of Cas’ anger, for the telling off, for the guilt to bear down on him, to crush him into darkness. 

Cas speaks quietly now. “Is...Is that what you really came to say?” 

Dean freezes. Cas comes to stand up behind him and Dean can feel his breath on his neck. Cas raises his hand to Dean’s elbow, his hand just lingering, barely there. Dean turns to Cas and his eyes meet his, ice blue and lined with hurt. Dean swallows. 

“Cas,” Dean basically whispers, staring at his shoes. “I...I, you know I’m not good with words.”

“Then don’t speak.” Cas is kissing him now, softly, but Dean pulls back. His eyes widen because fuck, Cas just kissed him. While sober. In the daylight. In the greenhouse. Cas kissed him. 

Now Cas’ eyes widen, fear splashing across his face. “Is—” but Dean cuts him off, mouth crashing against his, hands cupping Cas’ face. The force of Dean’s kiss pushes Cas back and they stumble, Cas’ foot sending the pot skittering across the floor. Dirt spills everywhere and Dean narrowly sidesteps an orchid bloom but they don’t care. Not when Dean’s body is pressing Cas against the greenhouse wall. Cas sighs into Dean and Dean wraps his arm low around Cas’ waist, pulling them closer. Dean travels down Cas’ neck and Cas moans a “Dean”, sending Dean into overdrive. 

Cas speaks between panting breaths, “I, I thought you regretted it, uhh, you didn’t speak to me, uhh, for three days” and Dean’s heart collapses in on itself. He pulls back, gazing deep into Cas’ eyes. 

“I thought you regretted it. I thought you’d hate me,” Dean says and Cas is flipping them, pushing Dean against the wall. 

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbles, trailing kisses down Dean’s neck. Dean roots his hands through Cas’ hair. 

“I know,” Dean says, lowering his head down to breathe in Cas, patchouli and dirt and pine. 

“Do—you—know—how—long—I’ve—waited—to—kiss—you” Cas gets out in between each kiss. 

“I think I’ve waited longer,” Dean says, pulling Cas back up to lock lips again, deepening it now. Cas slides his fingers in between Dean’s and pins Dean’s hands above his head, pushing further into his hips. Dean groans and bucks forward. Dean nearly bites off Cas’ tongue when Sam raps sharply on the greenhouse window. The two of them turn in shock and with the biggest shit-eating grin, Sam gestures dinner’s ready and then immediately flees. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Dean mutters but Cas is nuzzling his neck. 

“After dinner please. I’m hungry,” Cas replies. Dean kisses the crown of his head, running his hands through his hair. 

“Alright, let’s go eat.”

\-------------

“Merry Christmas Cas!” Cas wakes up because Dean is shaking him, standing by his bed in his pajamas. 

“What time is it?” Cas asked, rubbing his eyes. 

“It’s Christmas time so wake up,” Dean says, throwing the covers off Cas. Cas is only in boxers and Dean freezes, then blushes, then averts his eyes. Cas stands now, stepping up to Dean. 

“My eyes are up here, Dean.” Dean rolls his eyes but Cas has walked off, slipping into the pants Dean has handed him. 

“Hurry up, Sam is waiting.” Dean shoos Cas out of his room, hand on the small of his back. 

“Can I at least have coffee first?” Cas grumbles, crossing his arms. 

“No time,” Dean says but of course there was time. There was time for coffee because Dean had cooked a huge breakfast. Eggs, sausage, pancakes, hell, he even made biscuits. 

“Woah,” Cas said, turning the corner. “This looks—”

“Great? I know,” Dean says, pulling open a chair. Sam is already sitting down, reading the paper. He shoots Cas a look of sympathy. 

“Alright serve yourself,” Dean says, handing out plates. They all dig in, plating way too much food each but somehow managing it all. When the food is gone and they’re stuffed they migrate to the living room, Cas and Dean falling onto the couch as Sam sits in a recliner. The fire crackles and pops. 

“So, presents?” Sam asks, breaking the silence of their communal lethargy. He gets up and grabs his present out from under the tree, handing them to Cas and Dean. Dean rips the wrapping paper off and but Cas peels off the tap, unfolding each plane of the wrapping. 

“Dude,” Dean says, holding up the leather back-pack style holster for two pistols. “This rocks.” 

Sam smiles. “Glad you like it. And that’s a journal Cas, so you can write whatever you’re feeling or your day or whatever you like.” 

Cas flips the leather journal open, hands skimming across the blank pages. “It’s beautiful Sam, thank you. Really.” Dean reaches out and Cas hands it to him, standing now to gather his gifts from under the tree. 

“For Sam,” he says at he hands his gift off. “For Dean.”

Sam unwraps his scarf and holds it up, letting it cascade down from his hands. 

“You said you were cold last week in town, I thought it would help,” Cas says and Sam smiles. “Thank you! It’s a great color, Cas, I love it,” and Sam throws it on for good measure. 

They turn to Dean, who has fallen silent, the gift laying partially unwrapped in his lap. He finally speaks but all he says is “Cas”, very softly. He holds up the original signed copy of Slaughterhouse Five, delicate in opening the cover. Cas doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

“Woah,” Sam says, leaning forward. 

“Cas, this is—where did you find this?” Dean asks, slowly flipping through the pages. He looks up at Cas now, his face equal parts surprise and holy fuck, how are you, you and Cas just shrugs. 

“The lady at the local bookstore helped me find it.” Cas says, trying to deflect. 

“This must have cost a fortune,” Dean says, closing the book to run his fingers over the cover. “Cas you shouldn’t have, I….Thank you, Cas, really, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” is all Cas manages out, a blush creeping out over his cheeks. 

Dean’s attention is still rapt on the book when Sam coughs and when he looks up, he realizes they’re waiting for him. He gently places the book on the coffee table and gathers his gifts, passing them out. 

Sam first unwraps a porn mag—”Naughty Nerdy Girls”—but underneath is a new pair of running shoes. “Thank you Dean, these are great,” Sam says, lacing the strings through their holes. “The shoes, not the girls,” he adds. Sure, Dean thinks, winking at Cas. Cas rolls his eyes. He returns to his gift, carefully peeling off the paper. 

“These are—” Cas holds up a pair of red long socks, with a blue stripe that cuts across the top. “....These are great Dean, thank you.” Dean just kinda stammers, sputtering like a stalled engine. “Yea, I—uh yea, I, I just saw them and I..I thought you would like them.” Sam’s eyebrows cock to the sky and he shoots Dean a look of Really? Dean ignores him. 

They spend the rest of the day lounging around. Dean throws on Die Hard—”Die Hard is a Christmas movie, Sam”—but they’re only half watching. Dean sneaks a kiss with Cas in the kitchen while Sam’s passed out in the living room later in the evening and Dean rides that high until the sun comes down. He finds Cas later in the greenhouse, trying to nurse the crushed orchid back to the land of the living. 

Dean softly raps on the glass. Cas lets him in and Dean slips in sideways, hand behind his back. 

“I’m sorry about the orchid,” he says. He is sorry; it’s completely crushed. Well, not that sorry. Collateral damage. Friendly fire. 

“It’s okay, I’m sure it understands,” Cas says with a slight grin. Dean chuckles. In the silence, he pulls his hand out from behind his back. It’s a gift wrapped box—it even has a bow—and he hands it to Cas. He scratches his arm. 

“It wasn’t ready this morning. I’m sorry,” he says, eyes lowering. 

“So the socks...” Cas says, teasing him. 

“God those were supposed to be for Sam. I panicked, okay?” Dean says, shielding himself from Cas’ little punt to his shoulder. 

Cas stops punting to look down at the box in his hands. It’s heavy. He makes a show of holding it up to his ear and shaking it. “I hope it’s another pair of socks, I was really hoping for some blues ones—”

“Oh shut up and just open the damn thing,” Dean says, “before I take it back.” Cas pulls the gift away from Dean, fake-shielding it. He slowly unpeels the wrapping paper—just to tease Dean, he knows—and flicks open the cardboard box. 

Dean can’t read Cas’ face because he’s looking down into the box. He keeps looking down, slowing reaching in to pull out the 5 inch knife. The knife is a typical hunter’s knife but the blade is sturdy, a beautiful walnut shade. It is not the color that stops Cas but the intricate carving, the swirling celtic knots that run down the handle’s spine. They’re delicately intertwined but meticulously carved, stained a little darker for contrast. On each side are anti-demon and anti-monster sigils respectively. but Carved at the bottom of the handle are Cas’ initials in Enochian. 

“Dean,” Cas says, running his fingers along the handle. “Dean...this is beautiful. This is…” Cas keeps looking back and forth between Dean and the blade.

Dean smiles, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “Do you like it?”

“Dean this is incredible. I don’t know what to say,” Cas says, dropping the blade to wrap his arms around Dean. Dean oofs, but then wraps his arms around Cas for the hug. Dean can smell Cas from the crown of his head, patchouli and dirt. Cas pulls back. 

“How long did this take you?” 

“Umm, about two weeks.” Dean hesitates, stupidly embarrassed. 

“Dean!” Cas says, looking up from the blade. “Dean it’s incredible, thank you.”

“I want you to always carry it. I never want you stuck somewhere without it. I blessed it and carved the sigils, so you should be the only one who can touch it.” 

Cas’ eyes widen and he hugs Dean again, murmuring another thank you into his chest. 

“Cas...how much did that book cost?” Dean asks. 

“Don’t ask.” Cas says, still hugging him. 

“And where did you even get the money?” Dean says, remembering that Cas, you know, doesn’t have a job. 

“Don’t ask,” Cas says and Dean laughs, wrapping his arms around him tighter. 

“Fine. Well, Merry Christmas, Cas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
